Blackfyre Tower
"What?" Laena almost shouted in shock. She even stood up from her seat, and here Laenor had thought she was as stunned as he was. It seemed his sister had never expected the Drakonar lord to offer his daughter's hand to Laenor, not even as a possibility.
"Sit down, Laena. It's only a formal proposal. Laenor can decline if he so wishes. There's no need to be this dramatic over it," their mother said calmly, motioning for Laena to sit. There was clear disapproval on Laena's face, her jaw set tight, but she obeyed with visible reluctance and resumed her seat, folding her arms across her chest.
"Before you three delve into discussing why Lord Maelor made this offer and how Laenor should reject it immediately," his father said evenly, "I should add that Lady Elaena is already here, at Blackfyre Tower. Lord Maelor only took his leave after ensuring she arrived safely. She came by wheelhouse, since her dragon is incapacitated at the moment." His gaze lingered on Laenor at the end, and for a brief instant, a proud smirk flickered across his face—gone almost as soon as it appeared, but not before Laenor noticed it.
"She even dared to show her face here? After everything she said about Laenor?" Laena burst out. "Father, you shouldn't have allowed her to come near Laenor. Or better yet, let me go and tell her Laenor's decision myself, so she can leave for her." Her outrage was plain, her hands clenched tightly at her sides.
"Oh? And you don't want me to continue ogling her now, Laena?" Laenor asked lightly, his tone deliberately teasing.
The effect was immediate. Laena's furious expression froze, then shifted into something dangerously close to embarrassment. The atmosphere in the room lightened despite the tension. Their parents turned toward Laena at once, a mixture of curiosity and faint surprise written plainly on their faces.
"You shut up, Laenor," Laena snapped. "There's no need to remind me of that again and again, and especially not in front of our parents. I told you already, didn't I? I wasn't at my best at that time." Instead of the flustered reaction Laenor expected, her irritation redirected itself squarely at him. She pointed an accusing finger his way, huffed indignantly, and leaned back in her chair, deliberately refusing to look at him again.
"You continue to surprise me more with each passing day, my daughter," their mother said, one brow arching as a small, knowing smirk curved her lips.
Their father coughed pointedly, drawing everyone's attention back to him. Laenor caught a sharp glare aimed at him from the corner of his vision, but he wisely ignored it.
"What I wished to add further," his father continued, "is that Lady Elaena requested an audience with Laenor specifically. She begged for it, in truth. I know not what troubles exist between father and daughter, or within House Drakonar as a whole, but the desperation on her face was… convincing. Enough that I felt it right to bring her request to you. The choice is yours now, my son. You may meet her—or you may refuse."
With that, he lifted his winecup and poured himself a generous measure of Dragon's Blood, the infamous Valyrian wine reserved only for dragonlords and honored guests.
Laena watched Laenor intently, her gaze pleading without words, clearly hoping he would refuse and send her in his place. Truth be told, the temptation was real. Laenor held little affection for Elaena after their last encounter; her haughty certainty and sharp words had erased away even what little something felt after seeing her sheer beauty. Yet despite that, his instincts—those same instincts that had guided him through far greater dangers—urged him to go himself.
Laenor trusted his instincts more than comfort.
He rose from his seat and sent his sister an apologetic look. "Where is she?" he asked, turning to his father.
His father set the winecup aside. "She's been given the chamber beside Rhaenyra's. I suspect by the time you arrive, you'll find our princess already speaking with Lady Elaena."
Laenor shrugged lightly and made his way out of the room, his steps measured.
Rhaenyra's chambers were not far from where his family had gathered—just a floor below—so it took little time to reach the adjoining corridor. Daemon's and Viserys's rooms lay not much farther off, though both brothers were rarely present these days, too engrossed in exploring Valyria from dragonback to bother with their chambers beyond meals and baths. Aegon, more often than not, followed them atop Quicksilver.
With those thoughts lingering, Laenor slowed before the door beside Rhaenyra's, preparing himself for whatever awaited on the other side.
There was no guard outside the door. Laenor knocked anyway, out of courtesy more than need, and was soon bid to enter. The chamber beyond was much like the others within Blackfyre Tower, though touched with a little more luxury than most—richer drapes, a warmer hearth, finer furnishings—fitting, perhaps, for a guest of Lady Rhaenys Belaerys hosting someone of Elaena Drakonar's standing.
His father had been right. Rhaenyra was indeed present, seated beside Elaena. Both women turned their attention to him the moment he entered, their gazes lingering in different ways—Rhaenyra's curious and sharp, Elaena's measured, almost cautious.
"Please, have a seat, Lord Laenor," Elaena spoke first. Her voice was noticeably different from the last time he had heard it. Gone was the edge of anger and open disdain that had colored her words earlier. Now it was calm again, almost gentle, much like it had been when they first met in the morning.
Laenor inclined his head and took the seat beside Rhaenyra, his posture relaxed but attentive.
"Lady Rhaenyra, forgive me," Elaena continued politely, turning toward the princess, "but I would like to speak with Lord Laenor in private. I will be staying at Blackfyre Tower under Lady Rhaenys's hospitality for some days yet, so we will have time enough to speak later."
Rhaenyra's eyes flicked between Elaena and Laenor once, then again, suspicion and curiosity warring openly on her face. Still, she rose without protest. "Very well," she said, though the look she gave Laenor as she passed him promised questions later. With that, she took her leave, the door closing softly behind her.
Silence settled over the chamber.
Laenor remained still, composed. It had been Elaena who asked for this meeting, so he waited, allowing her the space to speak first. After a brief moment, she did, her lips curving into an anxious, restrained smile.
"I'm sure your father, Lord Corlys, has already relayed my father's terms regarding the alliance between the Velaryon and the Drakonar clan?" Though phrased as a question, it was clearly rhetorical. Laenor answered only with a nod. "Did he also mention," she continued, her voice lowering, "that my father wishes to bind our bloodlines in marriage—that I am to be betrothed to you?"
The last words were barely above a whisper.
"No," Laenor replied after a deliberate pause, watching her carefully. "My father did not say that you were to be betrothed to me." He stopped just long enough to see the flicker of hope and anxiety cross her face, then continued evenly. "What he told me was that Lord Maelor proposed I take his daughter as my third wife, and that the decision rests entirely with me."
Elaena's hands tightened briefly in her lap.
"Yes… of course. Forgive me," she said softly, bowing her head. "May I ask what your decision is?"
She did not look up as she spoke, her gaze fixed on the floor, her shoulders held too rigidly still.
"We have spoken of this before," Laenor said, his tone firm but controlled. "At that time, I did not give you an answer. In truth, I had not yet thought your father would bind our alliance this way—at least not until he saw what I was capable of. So it was necessary for me to give you an answer then." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Now, however, we find ourselves in a position where an answer must be given, either to you or to Lord Maelor. So I will be clear."
Elaena's breath hitched almost imperceptibly.
"I do not intend to accept this betrothal," Laenor said plainly. "You may tell your father that if he wishes me to join his faction, I am willing—on the terms he already offered. As before, any blood contract will only be signed after my cousin marries Lady Melisa. On that point, my stance has not changed."
As his words settled in the room, Elaena's expression faltered. For a brief moment, the carefully maintained composure slipped, leaving her looking crestfallen, vulnerable in a way Laenor had not seen before. Then, almost as quickly, she schooled her face once more, the mask sliding back into place as she lifted her head, her emotions hidden behind calm, measured restraint.
"Lord Laenor, if you remember our earlier conversation—about why you chose not to accept Lady Melisa as your third wife—you said that she was not… special enough for you to change your mind about marrying another woman." Elaena's voice wavered despite her effort to keep it steady. "Am I also not special enough, then?"
There was shock in her tone, sharp and unmistakable, layered with a fragile kind of denial. Shock—because she had not expected rejection, not from a man, even him, if her expression is to go by. Denial—because, to her ears, Laenor's words sounded less like a refusal of circumstance and more like a quiet declaration that she was no different, no more remarkable than any other woman placed before him. The thought clearly unsettled her, clashing violently with the certainty she had carried all her life about her own worth and place.
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